


Anyone but you.

by Bored_Cinnamon_roll67



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned animal, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Sherlock gets a doggo, Sherlock is very smol, Soooo much angst, why do i like to make myself sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bored_Cinnamon_roll67/pseuds/Bored_Cinnamon_roll67
Summary: After John rejects Sherlock,  Sherlock wanders the streets in a drug induced haze,  unable to return to 221B, where he finds a something to ease the pain,  just a bit.





	

Sherlock tripped a a bit as he stumbled down the darkened alley.   
He was high; very much so. But how could he not be? How else could he deal with The pain? The love of his life just rejected him, his reason to live told him to piss off.   
Sherlock had once said that the best antidote for sorrow was work. He lied. That little act was all part of his sociopath persona. In reality, his best remedy was drugs.   
He wasn't even sure was he was doing out of the flat. No, he was absolutely sure. The truth was, he couldn't bear to stay there.   
He tried, through. Before he caved to the drugs. He sat in his chair, knees pressed against his chest, trying to purge John from his hard drive. But it was no use. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was all the blank spaces where John used to be. John's chair, reading a book. The table, writing his blog, working around Sherlock's latest experiments. The kitchen, making Sherlock tea, just how he liked it. There wasn't one place in that flat that didn't remind him.   
Turns out, there wasn't even a place in the whole damned city. The alley that he'd stumbled into, it was where he and John had his when the police came for them. Where they pressed themselves against the wall behind the dumpster, and John grabbed his hand, holding on so tightly, not even thinking about it.   
Sherlock tried to forget. He drove his hand into the brick wall, the same hand that he used to lock fingers with the only person he ever loved so much. 

Forget.   
Delete.   
Erase. 

He drove his first into the wall until blood dropped from his knuckles. The cold night air dying his lungs as he heaved air, trying desperately to breathe. 

Forget.   
Delete.   
Erase,

He commanded his brain. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. Because deep down, under the pain, and the loss and the bitterness, he loved John Watson. Sentiment.   
Sherlock crumpled to the ground, forehead pressed against the rough bricks. 

Anyone but you.   
Anyone but you.   
Anyone  
But  
You. 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

He wasn't sure how long he'd been laying there, but when he woke up, he placed the time at about 5 in the morning. He painfully shoved himself upright. God, everything hurt. And his hand... He knew he needed to go back to the flat, clean himself up. But he couldn't. He stood, and the world spun for a moment; he braced himself on the wall.   
How could John do this to him? Sherlock had died, killed and lived for that bastard and it wasn't enough? What had Mary ever done for John that Sherlock couldn't? Mary was a liar and a murderer, and Sherlock protected her, still; because he knew it would make John happy. Because Sherlock wasn't his world anymore, Mary was. Just like that. Out with the old, in with the new.   
Sherlock trudged down the alley, no real purpose or destination, until he heard a small noise. He turned on his heel, scanning the area with his half functioning senses. Maybe if he held still enough, he could- yes. That's what it was. Sherlock half walked half stumbled over to the sound. There it was.  
Under a discarded cardboard box was huddled a small dog; a puppy. An Irish setter, actually. The puppy was terribly thin, and cowered when Sherlock removed the box. But Sherlock was gentle. With his hands still shaking, from his latest high, he gingerly lifted the puppy, holding it close to his chest inside his coat.   
"It's okay, now, " He soothed. "It'll be alright. "

<><><><><><><><><>

Everything in his mind screamed at him not to go back to the flat, but it was quieted a bit by the dog. It was easier not to think of John when he was busy with the it. He pet the dog and thought only of the dog on his way back to the flat.   
Once inside, he set the it down, only for a moment, to fetch a basket that he carefully lined with a few blankets. He set the basket on the floor, and then the dog into the basket, whereupon the dog clumsily turned in a few circles and laid down.   
Sherlock stared sadly at it. It was broken, and fragile. Abandoned to the cold, harsh world. Sherlock was glad he'd found it, though. 

<><><><><><>

The dog turned out to be a he. And he absolutely adored Sherlock. Greeted him every day when he walked through the front door. Any door, in fact. If Sherlock had been in his room for a bit longer than usual, sleeping off a high or a long case, the dog would immediately run to him as soon as the door cracked.   
The first time the dog did that, Sherlock smiled for the first time in months. He didn't like to think about where he might be if the dog didn't need Sherlock to take care of him. 

<><><><><><>

After a few months, Sherlock decided the dog needed a name, one that would suit him. A nice, proper name. Sherlock went online, combing through the possibilities. He had found a site that listed names alphabetically, very helpful. He stopped when he hit "H", though. "Hamish," the name read.   
"Hamish," Sherlock said to himself. He never did quite know why John hated it so much. He looked over at the dog, curled up in his chair.   
"Hamish! " He said. The dog's ears perked, and he looked at Sherlock quizzically.  
"Com'ere Hamish, com'ere!"  
The dog sprang from the couch and trotted over to Sherlock's desk, resting his head in Sherlock's lap. "Hamish it is, then. " Sherlock smiled. He ruffled the dogs fur, feeling the happiest he had in a long while.  
Sentiment. 

<><><><><><><><>

A single ring, just after half a second. Client. Sherlock walked briskly to the door, flinging it open, and then slamming it back shut.  
What the hell was *he* doing here? Sherlock's heart raced. Not now, he couldn't. He'd just started to heal, why now?   
"Sherlock. "  
The voice in the other side of the door said.   
"I-I'd really like to talk to you. "  
"Go away! " Sherlock shouted, even surprising himself.   
"Sherlock. I'm sorry. I came to apologize, I swear. "  
He pleaded. "...I'm done hurting you. If... you want me to go, I will. But just know that I am so sorry, Sherlock. "  
Sherlock could feel tears rolling down his cheeks but he didn't care. He opened the door.   
"John, I-"  
But he was cut off by Hamish, who came charging at John, growling and snarling. Sherlock managed to grab him by the collar before he did anything serious, but he had successfully knocked a very shocked John Watson onto the ground.   
"No, Hamish! Bad! Go lay down! "  
Sherlock pointed to his chair, and Hamish obediently went.   
"I'm sorry about that, " Sherlock began. "He must have heard me yelling and he doesn't like strangers..."  
John let out a short, breathy laugh. "Hamish? "  
Sherlock looked at the ground. "Well, it's not like I had a balloon. " bitterness dripped from his words.   
"Sherlock..."  
Sherlock didn't look at John. He just stood there.   
"Sherlock?..."  
Sherlock started to cry again. Damn this sentiment. He never thought he'd hear John's voice again, let alone say hear John say anything kind.   
He was shaking when John wrapped his arms around him. Shaking and sobbing, and then he was holding on as tight as he could to John. And damn if John wasn't crying too. Ridiculous. Wonderful. Sherlock rested his head in John's shoulder, and cried until he had nothing left. 

<><><><><><><>


End file.
